


Stark MD

by Angst_BuriTTo



Category: House M.D., The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst and Humor, Canon Disabled Character, Doctors & Physicians, Don't Like Don't Read, Eventual Irondad and Spiderson, Eventual Relationships, Inappropriate Humor, Light Angst, Medical, Medical Jargon, Medication, Permanent Injury, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 18:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angst_BuriTTo/pseuds/Angst_BuriTTo
Summary: Dr. Tony Stark is New York Teaching Hospitals best and most DIFFICULT Doctor. He and his team of fellows work on solving the medical cases nobody else can. In comes a new patient:12-year-old recently orphaned Peter Parker.





	Stark MD

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a teaser, the full fic is still being written, and no more will be posted until it is finished.

* * *

Limping into the clinic, Dr. Tony “Call-me-Anthony-On-Pain-Of-Awake-And-Living-Autopsy” Stark ignored the folder Dean Virginia “Pepper” Potts held out to him expectantly and stopped in front of the crowd of people waiting to get into a clinic room.

“Good morning, Germ-Carriers,” Tony addressed the patients loudly, grabbing their attention. “My name is Doctor Tony Stark, I am a _bored_,” Tony shot a smirk at pepper who rolled her eyes “Certified diagnostician, with a Doctorate in Medicine and Doctorates in Engineering and Nephrology. I am one of 3 doctors working in this clinic today, and the only one forced to be here.”

“Thank you for introducing yourself to your future patients, Dr. Stark, Grab a file,” Pepper tried, only for Tony to speak louder and act like she never opened her mouth.

“You might see me reaching for these of one of you are especially stupid,” pulling out his Vicodin pills, his rattle the bottle. “these are Vicodin, they’re mine; if you want any, you’ll have to fight me for them- I have a mean swing with my cane, and can limp faster than a 90-year-old grandma on steroids. No, I don’t have an addiction to pain meds, I have chest and leg pain from bomb shrapnel; but who knows,” Tony widened his eyes innocently, “Maybe I’m too high to tell the difference anymore.”

Looking at the crown with a manic smile, Tony asked; “now, who wants me?”

Nobody raised their hand.

“And who would rather wait for the other two boring doctors?”

Everyone, even newbie Nurse Perkins with the great ass and Hugh Grant jawline raised their hands.

“Excellent. I’ll be in exam room one if anyone changes there minds.”

Limping past an exasperated Pepper, he shot her a wink, whistling a jaunty tune. 

* * *

Using his cane to roll the stool towards himself, Tony sat down, glancing at the file in his hand, then at the heavily make-up'ed woman sitting on the exam table, phone in hand and tapping away at it.

“So,” Tony began, popping a Vicodin in his mouth. “Ms,”

“Mrs.” she snapped, not looking up from her phone.

“_Miss_ Carlton,” Tony ignored her, “You’re complaining of Blurred vision, headaches, sensitivity to light, and wrist and finger soreness.”

“Yes,” Miss… Carlson? Carlisle? Cardboard? Didn’t matter- snapped, squinting at her phone. “My husband told me to see someone for it.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony drawled, looking at the woman with bored eyes. “How often are you around your phone?”

“I have a very important job, so whenever I’m awake.”

“Right.” Tony smirked, “I’m gonna phone in a consult for this.”

“What, do you think it’s something serious?”

“If anyone knows about vision problems, it’s my good friend Dr. Rhodes.”

* * *

“Tony that was cruel, you scared the poor woman into thinking she had cancer!”

Tony slapped his forehead, looking at Rhody with a shocked, mock-regretful look.

“Damn, Oncologist and Optometrist are just **_so similar_**! Oops, silly me,”

“You’re a dick.”

“And she’s an idiot; she needs _glasses_ and time away from her _phone_; this is why I hate clinic duty- idiots everywhere, not a brain cell to be found.”

Shaking his head, Rhodey threw his hand up, walking away.

“I have and _actual_ cancer patient waiting for her appointment in five minutes- try not to make anyone else cry before lunch?”

“Say hi to the mini bald humans for me!” Tony called out loudly as Rhodey walked away, making a few people look at him in shock.

* * *

Limping into the front of the hospital, Tony swiped a red and yellow sucker from the collection at the front desk before stopping abruptly when a file was slapped against his chest. Holding back his flinch as the action made his chest throb, he looked up and smirked when he saw Pepper looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I need your expertise, Doctor Stark,” Pepper started, and Tony gasped loudly in faux shock.

“No, Dean Pott’s, I will not sleep with you for a promotion!” his voice was loud and made more then a few people look over in shock, including a scandalized mother covering her son’s ears- even though said son was about 17.

Rolling her eyes at Tony’s antics, Pepper shoved the folder at him again and poked him with it for good measure.

“You have a patient,” Pepper told him, raising an eyebrow.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I don’t,” Tony shrugged. “I only came in today because Rhodey owes me ten bucks,” Leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, Tony added, “I told him that the new nurse was a married lesbian, poor bastard didn’t believe me- now he lost ten bucks and has a nice red tattoo in a fine shade of red that matches her hand shape on his face.”

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Pepper opened the file, while Tony began to limp away for the elevator. “Patient is complaining about chronic fatigue, increased urination, swollen feet, high blood pressure, stomach pain, and weight gain.”

Pressing the button to make the doors close, Tony rolled his eyes.

“Either tell the eighty-year-old he’s got a terminal case of _ageing_ \- or inform the young lady she’s got a happy little tumour called a _fetus _growing in her stomach and 19 years of chronic debt and even more fatigue to deal with.”

“The patient is a twelve-year-old recently orphaned boy.” Pepper added, grinning smugly when Tony shut up, looking down at the file with suddenly _very_ interested eyes.

“Well, that just changes everything,” Tony hummed, “I’ll call Forman and Chase.”

“Not Cameron?”

“I call Chase, I get Cameron- those two are very bad at being discreet- found them in the janitors closet last week going for a home run.” Tony smirked, “Chase has a nice bat- must give him a hell of a swing.”

Scoffing, Pepper strode out of the elevator as it stopped at her floor.

“I’ll deal with them later, you just get them to do their job, _without_ the home base running.”

“You can’t stop their love!” Tony shouted dramatically after Pepper, who didn’t turn around or reply.

Grinning, Tony tapped his cane against the button that would close the doors and lead him to his floor.

* * *

“Ok, my little Starklings, we have a case!”

Throwing each of his fellows a file, he grinned winningly at Chase when his knocked his breakfast sandwich off the table and into the conveniently located trash can.

“12-year-old boy presenting with chronic fatigue, increased urination, swollen feet, high blood pressure, and weight gain, and stomach pain- go.”

“It could be celiac disease.” Cameron volunteered.

“Polymitosis could account for all of those symptoms,”

“So could dermatomyositis,” Chase countered Forman’s suggestion.

“Except both of those would have him having trouble swallowing,” Cameron pointed out, looking at the file, she added, “He was given a simple breakfast this morning, eggs, milk, and apple slices. No note anywhere on any dysphagia. His O2 levels are fine - no shortness of breath.”

“Except if he _had_ either of those, the symptoms could start showing up at any time; everything else fits,” Forman raised the file, “I say we give the kid an ANA, test his Antinuclear levels, this is probably autoimmune.”

“Celiac fits almost all of them too, I say we give the kid a tTG-IgA test, if he tests positive, then we give him a new diet and he’s good as new.”

“Except for the fact that he ate breakfast without any adverse reactions.” Forman countered, “if he had Celiac, then he would be reacting almost immediately to the food he was given. Patients get the normal food everyone else gets unless specified in their treatment plan - which has plenty of gluten in it. It _can’t_ be Celiac.”

Tony smacked his cane on the table, making the ducklings jump and look at him in shock.

“Do all the tests, except for Celiac – I’m disappointed in you Cameron-” he ignored Cameron’s death glare, “and do a CRP test while you’re at it.” Tapping his cane on the floor, he added, “We’re going in with horse blinders on today; we can see what’s in front of us, but left right and behind, nada.” After a few moments of confused and frustrated silence, Tony rolled his eyes and snapped, “Did you even notice the lack of family medical history in the file? Kid’s a recent orphan, apparently, his parents died when he was 5 and his aunt and uncle died a month ago from a home robbery and fire. All the files were lost. The kid only got brought in because he was lucky enough to find the one social worker in this entire country that actually gives a crap. Since we can’t know if there’s anything genetic in this, we have to go by the assumption that the entire family line was a bunch of disease carriers.”

“Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis is rare though, the odds of him having it…he could be in pain for the rest of his life,” Cameron, ever the bleeding heart. Always trusted to believe the best in the human body.

“And a celiac patient that can eat gluten-filled food is about as common as finding God, so…” Tony smirked at Cameron’s offended look. “Now go, shoo, do the tests; I have Clinic duty to avoid.”

Waiting until his fellows left the room, Tony limped to his office, dropping into the lounger and taking his Vicodin out of his pocket. Popping a pill into his mouth, he groaned, one hand rubbing at the crater in his thigh, the other rubbing at the concave scar in his chest. Hissing at the sharp stab of pain from both, Tony closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the headrest.

Not for the first time, he found himself cursing Christine Everhart and her decision to allow third-world ‘doctors’ (more like monkey’s with scalpels, those damn Shamans. ‘medicine Doctors’ – Hah!) to take the shrapnel out of his chest and leg, instead of actually waiting for a qualified, doctorate carrying surgeon to root around in his insides, leading to pulmonary Embolism and DVT – and in the process, crippling him for life.

Hearing his office door open, Tony opened his eyes and scowled, only softening a bit when he saw it was Rhodey coming into the office.

“I heard Pepper gave you a case.” Tony was thankful that Rhodey didn’t mention his current pain at the moment, choosing instead to try and distract him from it.

“12-year-old boy has chronic fatigue, increased urination, swollen feet, high blood pressure, weight gain, and stomach pain. It’s not celiac, as Cameron so _helpfully_ suggested; he didn’t react to the normal breakfast he was given. Any Ideas, honey bear?”

Looking thoughtful, Rhodey hummed before hesitatingly suggesting; “Lupus?”

Scoffing and rolling his eyes, Tony shook his head. “It’s _never_ Lupus, Rhodey,” he looked at his best friend with an exaggerated pout. “Have I taught you nothing over our long friendship?”

Shrugging, Rhodey replied wryly, “You know, one of these days, it’s gonna be Lupus. Let’s hope your patient doesn’t die before you figure it out.”

Muscles finally relaxing as his Vicodin finally kicked in and his pain went from a solid 7 to a more manageable 4, Tony waved a hand in dismissal at the warning. “It’s _never_ Lupus,” Tony replied firmly. “Any other ideas I can discard and substitute my own with?”

“Myocarditis.” Rhodey sighed after a moment.

Tony opened his mouth to shoot it down on habit, but then stopped, tilting his head. “Keep that up and I might just steal you from the oncology department, Rhodey.”

“I’ll be sure to say, ‘common cold', next time then,” Rhodey snorted.

“Myocarditis also fits all of the symptoms, stomach pain could just be a symptom of grief, you know, that thing that humans feel when someone they care about dies.”

Giving Rhodey a flat smile, Tony heaved himself off the chair.

“Yeah, I kind of know what that feels like.” He limped out the door, not seeing Rhodey’s realization and wince at the error he made.

“Tony, wait!” Rhodey jogged toward the elevator, but Tony used his cane to push the button to close the door before he could get to it.

When the door closed, he hung his head, memories rolling through his head of that night in med school, when one phone call changed his entire life.

Limping into the Clinic, Tony grabbed a file from a waiting nurse, opening it and rolling his eyes at the contents.

“Lisa Cuddy, Exam room one,” a tall dark-haired woman that had a _great_ ass stood up and walked toward him, heels clicking on the floor. If it wasn’t for the unpleasant scowl on her face and the contents of the file, Tony might have considered trying to hit that.

Sitting down on the stool, Tony smirked at Cuddy, twirling his cane in his hands.

“So, Miss,”

“_Doctor_,” Cuddy snapped.

“Yes, I am one,” Tony countered with a grin, making her scowl even more.

“_Doctor _Cuddy,” the woman repeated slowly, as if to a child, and Tony snorted.

“Obviously, I _can_ read a chart you know. Among many other things, including shoot into a sperm sample cup from fifty paces,” Tony winked, an exaggerated leer on his face.

Cuddy looked offended, glaring at him. “Do you treat all your patients this way?” she asked, aghast.

“Oh don’t worry,” Tony assured her with a wide smile, “I treat all my patients equally; you’re no different than the rest of them.”

Getting up from the table, Cuddy turned up her nose at him. “I think I’ll go to another clinic, find a Doctor that can actually respect-” 

“-The fact that you’re prowling every Doctor in New York and New Jersey for a sperm donor to give you a bouncy little parasite?” Tony finished, tapping his cane on the floor.

“How _dare you-_” Cuddy shrilled, and Tony raised the file.

“14 doctor’s in 2 months, all the same symptoms, all ones that mysteriously, seemed to disappear the moment you got to the clinic, since you’re not sick now, and any monkey with a bottle of Motrin can tell that all these symptoms are signs of a _cold_, and since you’re a _Doctor, _currently on fertility treatments, always assigned to good looking, healthy doctors with dark hair and a healthy family history, I would say either, A) you should be fired because your diagnostic skills _suck_, or B) your scoping out unlucky firemen to spray their hose to put out your raging maternal fire.” Getting up, Tony waved toward the door, “either way, we’re done here, cause there’s no way in hell I’m giving you my little swimmers without being involved in the act, and a 19-year-long leech is not something I feel like acquiring at my age.”

The nurses sighed as another patient left exam room one in a huff, Dr. Stark following after with a bright red handprint on his face.

“Next Disease Carrier!”

* * *

“Tony, why did I get a complaint from Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of PPTH, about your treatment of her as a patient?” 

Looking up from the crotch of his clinic patient that he was swabbing, Tony raised an eyebrow at Pepper’s unamused look.

Mr. Warner (Wary? Wally? Williams?) looked between the two with wide eyes as both doctors seemingly ignored the fact that he was there with his family jewels swinging in the wind.

“I told her I wouldn’t be the father of her little sperm parasite, and she got offended when I pointed out her little game with half the male medical population in NY and NJ,” Tony replied, shrugging at Pepper’s disbelieving look.

“Of all of the story’s you’ve told over the years,” Pepper groaned, and Tony raised his gloved hands in defence, Pepper grimacing as the swab came within a foot of her.

“Hey, for once I wish I was telling a story here,” Tony shuddered dramatically. “I am the last person that wants somebody scoping me out for my little swimmers; I like them just where they are, thank you.”

Pepper looked like she wanted to argue again, but held her tongue; for once, Tony was completely serious.

Mr. Wally looked between them, hands covering his crotch.

“Er, can I pull up my pant’s now?”

* * *


End file.
